


Morning Mist

by Saetha



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Action, Angst, Fix-It, Gen, badassery, everyone is badass and no one dies, ha, pirate queen Miranda AU, what would have happened if Miranda just became a pirate captain herself one day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is not merciful or gentle. She is the storm, the wind, the sea, her wrath only second to Flint’s. She is Miranda Barlow, captain of the Morning Mist, feared by many and revered by more. </p>
<p>“If I had all those abilities that I am attributed with, we would already be governing the world.” She laughs. Flint looks at her. “Maybe, one day, we will.”</p>
<p>Based on the idea by Tumblr user jmeelee and a gifset by Tumblr user flintxhamilton (links in notes).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Mist

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this gifset](http://flintxhamilton.tumblr.com/post/148286646907/miranda-lives-au-pirate-queen-miranda-miranda) which in turn is based on [this idea!](http://jmeelee.tumblr.com/post/148278334467/flintxhamilton-thomas-hamilton-memorial-week)
> 
> Ever since I saw & reblogged that thing I just knew I HAD to write and since I don't have as many projects at the moment I figured I'd give it a shot. Needless to say that thing got a lot longer than I thought it would because I had SUCH fun of writing. Miranda is the bloody queen of everything, possibly my absolute favourite BS character by now. Beautiful queen <3333333\. I hope it's okay that I wrote this and please enjoy everyone!

It is after a few years that Miranda finally loses her patience. She is fed up with always sitting at home by herself, out in the wilderness where most people still watch her warily even when she does nothing else but tending to the little patch of land behind the house. She is fed up with James coming to her only from time to time, mostly when he is wounded and expecting her to patch him up again. Sometimes it feels like he is using her when the void that Thomas’ death has left is growing too large, as if a few words and a glimpse into the past could fill the gap her husband has left behind. Or maybe he is only doing it out of pity for her – who knows. The few moments where the warmth and trust that was between them shines through are not enough to keep her sated.

“I will come with you,” she tells James one evening when he has just returned from yet another raid, tired and bloody and with the lost depth of the sea hidden in his eyes.

_No_ , he argues with her. _No, you cannot, a ship is no place for someone like you, the sea is rough and living on board a ship is rougher still-_ But she insists and the human who can resist the iron of Miranda Barlow’s will has not yet been born. In the end his eyes are all but pleading – _I cannot lose you too. Please_.

James drinks that evening and leaves in a rage in the middle of the night, knowing that he will not be able to deter her. Miranda, of course, is prepared – she knows him better than any other soul still alive and so she follows him through the dark into the town of Nassau, knowing that he will probably sail at first light just to make sure she cannot come.

She is on the ship before him and every objection his crew might have is quickly smothered by her gaze. Flint (and he is Flint now, not James McGraw anymore, that much is clear as daylight) rages and shouts as soon as they are alone and for a moment she thinks he will have her thrown overboard, but they both know that there is no way out of this for him. They are out on the water already and going back would waste precious time they do not have if they want to be the first to catch the next big trader that is supposed to come through.

Miranda does as Flint tells her to for the most time – staying in the small cabin that is her own and not interfering with any of his or the first officer’s orders to the crew. It is Flint’s ship and he knows how to handle it. However, what she does is watch – the men, the officers, Flint. She watches them hoist the sail, listens as they talk about the weather and what the different colours of the sea mean. She sees Flint mediate between the men of his crew, notes the iron hand with which he guides them and the ship through the ocean’s waves. She also notices things that he does not, especially once the men become used to her presence – the way they sometimes throw dark glances at Flint when he pushes them mercilessly, how some of them gossip and slack behind his back and how others quell the dissatisfaction amongst the crew more than once.

She watches and sees, saying nothing but learning everything.

*  

The first time violence erupts on the ship she feels like she should be more scared than she is. Instead, however, she watches with strange detachment from Flint’s ship as men slaughter each other for a few chests of rum and sugar. A distracted part of her mind is reminded of what used to happen when she killed one of the chicken in her backyard to cook them for dinner – the blood is the same thick scarlet and the screams are high and clear. Humans and animals are all the same when they die, she thinks.

More than one of the English ship’s crew sees her standing on the _Walrus_ ’ prow, still wearing her white nightshift. They point at her, possibly thinking her abducted by pirates or a ghost risen from the mists of the morning. It distracts them, enough to give Flint’s men an easy advantage and slaughter them. When Miranda looks down, she thinks she can see their blood staining her white shift. She vanishes down below deck before the first of the men return, suddenly eager to put on her cloak and more practical clothes for the day.

When Flint comes into the cabin later he seems satisfied. They share a bottle of rum and for a moment it is James that Miranda is talking to, James McGraw, now laced in sadness and loss like the old one never was, but nonetheless undoubtedly the man her husband fell in love with and who she would protect with her life. She knows that James is trying to fill the emptiness inside after Thomas’ death with blood and alcohol, but both of those things are hollow as well.

They fuck that day, a quick and unemotional bout, the only sign of tenderness that short moment when James lifts his hand and lets his thumb trail softly down her chin. Something is breaking inside his eyes and he turns his head quickly after, unable to withstand the intensity of her gaze.

Miranda wonders how she can ease the pain for him at the same that she can also put the hollowness inside her to rest.

*

The first time she actively interferes is when a mutiny almost breaks out on board. At this point, most of the people on the ship are close to starving – they haven’t had proper food for weeks and the crew wants to go back to Nassau, to restock on water and food before going out again on their hunts. Flint refuses; he says he knows that a Spanish ship with gold and riches from the continent will be coming through any day now and that they will all be able to eat once they have taken it. The crew, however, prefers the safety of their home port to uncertain spoils on the sea. Gates does his best to calm them, but even he knows that the mood will soon become too dangerous to contain.

Miranda is one of the few people allowed into Flint’s cabin and the crew knows of it, the knowledge causing both a strange reverence and fear of her inside them. At first, they did not come near her because she was under the captain’s protection – now they do not come near her because her presence alone demands their respect.

There are angry murmurs that still when she sets foot under deck, back where the crew’s hammocks are strung between the wooden boards of the ship. Soon all of their eyes are turned towards her and the silence stretching through the space, only interrupted by the sounds of the sea, is absolute.

“I have seen his plans,” she tells the men. “The schedules and the calculations. The Spanish ship will come, I promise you that. It will be worth it. And if it isn’t here within the next three days, I will make him sail home.”

It is all that she says before walking out again, her steps hard and loud on the wooden stairs that lead up on deck. She does not look back; neither does she pause to hear the questions and conversations that have sprung up between the men. She still trusts James, more than anyone else, and hopes that she will not come to regret it.

Thankfully, her trust has not been misplaced – the next day, the sails of the Spanish ship appear on the horizon, to excited shouts from the men on deck. Flint smiles grimly to himself for just a split second before he begins issuing command to ready their crew. His gaze crosses with Miranda’s for a moment and he gives her a miniscule nod.

*

The moments become more common.

Miranda can read the crew in a way that Flint cannot – they behave differently around her than they do around him and even though they are guarded, they are less so in her vicinity than they are around their captain. She tells him some information, but not all – after all, the men still have to keep their trust in her. However, she can tell Flint when his command is becoming too harsh and the mood between his men begins to shift dangerously. She does not soften him – but slowly, subtly, she changes some of his ways.

The stories soon spread, about the ‘pale woman’ that many ships see before they are boarded by the pirates of Flint’s crew. Miranda shares a laugh with James in his cabin late one night over a bottle of rum. It is one of the rare occasions when she is wearing one of her dresses again, instead of her now usual garb that is remarkably similar to that of the rest of the crew. She enjoys those little moments where she is almost reminded of their earlier lives if she just drinks enough and narrows her eyes so her sight becomes blurry.

“They say that to see the pale woman means death.” James muses, his eyes crinkling with the laughter that once came so easily to him. “Some add that her haunting song can be heard before she appears, but that her hands and feet are bathed in blood. They also say that her gaze paralyses you and can turn men to stone…”

Miranda laughs, shaking her head.

“If I had all those abilities that I am attributed with, we would already be governing the world.”

James laughs too, before his gaze wanders and he quickly grows sober again, the steel returning into his eyes.

“Maybe, one day, we will.”

*

After several years, Miranda knows as much about sailing and leading a crew as any captain. More and more often she finds herself tempted to step in when Flint makes a decision, take over part of the command for herself although she always pulls back and tries not to show it. Nothing is more dangerous than taking away Flint’s authority. And so she only advises until then, throws in a few words here and there, supports him when he needs and tries to chip away at his coldness when it becomes too strong.

He, in turn, teaches her to fight. She has no natural affinity for the weapon like others seem to – the name Anne Bonny is on many people’s lips but she knows she will never have that kind of grace – but after months and months of learning she can defend herself well enough. Miranda does not board the enemy ships yet, but the Pale Woman now carries an old sword with her, adding to the terror many feel at her sight.

Now, however, she feels that it is time for her to go her own way. Thus, when Flint captures yet another ship whose crew seems to be willing to die to almost the last man apart from a few who join the pirates, she lays claim to it as her own. Her announcement is met first with disbelief, then with a low murmur amongst the crew – none of them would ever dare to be so audacious, but the hardness in her glance allows no protest. She hand picks a few men to help her bring the ship back to port, always staying within view of the _Walrus_. She renames hers as soon as it is in her possession – it is the _Morning Mist_ now, as elusive as her name suggests and just as dangerous.

The men with her might have expected her to be gentler than Flint, softer just because she is a woman, but they learn quickly enough that this is not the case. Her temper flares almost as hot as his does and she will allow no negligence or laziness. Flint has been a good teacher and soon her name is spoken with just as much reverence and fear. Still, they are loyal to her and the _Morning Mist_ and word spreads quickly once they arrive back in Nassau. 

She recruits her own crew from amongst those who are willing, men and a few women alike, trying to balance out strength, knowledge and ability amongst all of them so they will all be useful on her ship. Miranda and Flint quickly decide that the next time they will go out for the hunt together – with two ships they will be able to tackle larger prey and bring home much larger spoils than they have before.

The men shout their names when they make their announcement and with a nod at each other Captain Flint and Captain Barlow depart, to take their places at the head of their pirate crews.

*

Their instinct proves right. Capturing ships is far easier when two crews work together and although the spoils per crewman are not necessarily larger, they _do_ capture more of it so in the end everyone is satisfied. Miranda proves herself worthy when it comes to devising strategies for how to utilize the fact that they have two ships instead of one and together with Flint they come up with new strategies each time.

Word soon spreads on the ocean about the _Mist_ and her woman captain and those who sniggered at her perceived weakness at first are now cowering in fear. More than once she has annihilated an English ship sent out to catch her by herself. Her men are growing loyal although it takes time and with a cool mind and calm hand she sorts out those few who would always question her leadership. A captain cannot be doubted; once the seed of doubt spreads it will at some point poison the entire ship, that much she has learned from Flint.

Therefore, when the news arrives that the _Urca_ will come, bearing more gold than any other ship before her, she agrees with Flint that they have to do all they can to take her down. The man who ends up having the information, a John Silver, stays on Miranda’s ship and he tries to seduce her and tempt her to go against Flint exactly once. The mood amongst the crew is dangerous – hunting the _Urca_ is still a risk – but with two ships, and the information so readily at hand, they are confident their mission will be successful.

A storm almost destroys that plan for them – almost, since the _Mist_ , being further behind and slightly sturdier than the _Walrus_ is less significantly damaged although she, too, will need a number of repairs. Together they have enough uninjured men to be able to both take the stranded Urca and the gold that they have carried to the beach and were trying to guard.

In the end, the gold fills the cellars of the abandoned fort, every attempt to steal it warded off by one of the ships. With only the _Walrus_ or the _Mist_ it would have been a precarious, nigh impossible move – but together Flint and Miranda can pull it off, and are all the gladder for it.

*

Miranda looks on as Charlestown is burning. Her wrists still ache, as do her ankles, but the pain is nothing compared to the grim burning of vengeance as it spreads through her chest. They almost wouldn’t have made it – had she not been a feared captain of her own ship they would have likely killed her as soon as she saw the deception. Instead, they had kept both her and Flint alive for the masses, wanting to stage a big show to demonstrate that piracy has no power in these seas anymore by hanging the captains Flint and Barlow.

That it would be Charles Vane saving both of them, however, is something that has never crossed her mind before. She has met the man previously once or twice, usually when he and Flint drunkenly came to blows with each other, although he has shown nothing but cautious respect for her – especially when her crew spread the word of their pursuits around. Still, it came as a surprise when he was the one that showed up in the square where they were both bound, murderous rage and the desire to destroy glinting in his eyes.

In the confusion that the ships cannons create first Flint, then Miranda manage to flee the small town that they had come to to give at least one young girl the chance of a new life, away from death and grief. They do not know where Abigail is and there is no time to look for her – Miranda only remembers Ashe saying that she has been taken away from town and that is enough for her to believe. Back aboard the _Mist_ her and Flint cross gazes and nod. She can see the burning fire inside her reflected in his eyes and as she stands at the prow of her ship, they both lower their arms at the same time.

The roar of the cannons reduces Charlestown to dust and she knows she should feel satisfaction, triumph even. Instead she feels mostly tired, although she knows some of the flames inside her have been doused and at least one of the murderers of her husband has been brought to justice. And that Thomas has been murdered, even if indirectly, she has long known beyond doubt.

She stays until the last echo of the cannons’ thunder has died down and when she looks over to Flint, she can see that he is still in the same position that he was in when they began firing as well. She can hardly make out his face from where she’s standing, but she doesn’t need to to be able to know what his eyes looks like. She can well remember the iron inside them and knows the heat that is probably still floating inside his stomach.

 Miranda can smell the smoke from the ruins of Charlestown for days afterwards – it seems to cling to her nostrils and clothes and when she closes her eyes she can hear the thunder and the screams. The sound still reverberates in her ears even when she sleeps – so unlike the shouts of those her crew has killed on other ships before. Maybe it is because she knows exactly what it means: war.

War with England.

*

War comes even sooner than they have anticipated. England’s response is swift and harsh – a new governor for Nassau and a fleet of warships with numerous soldiers. They rally together whoever they can, but more than one of their crewmen and even fellow captains gives up their status as lawless and returns to English arms in return for the promise of freedom and all the help they can give. Somehow, Flint and Miranda escape – as do Charles Vane, Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny, with the very last of their power as Miranda holds off the masses. Parts of the gold will be lost to them forever, but at least they have their lives for now.

Vane’s respect towards her is more open now – he has accepted her as an equal, just as he has accepted Flint, and knows that the loss of any of their lives would weaken the pirate’s resistance more than a martyr’s death at the gallows could. They still have their ships, some of the gold and some of their crew and refugees from Nassau who preferred to come with them rather than stay under the new governor.

And they have something else, something that the English could never fathom they have achieved – the help of the former slaves and now freely living people that nobody even suspected existed. Miranda had been the one to talk to their queen. A meeting where men had not been allowed and whose content she would never dispose to anyone. It had left her with a deep respect for the woman who led all her people through such difficult times and managed to both protect them and guide them at the same time. She wonders if, at one point in the future, they might have been able to enjoy a friendship free from all boundaries where race and sexuality doesn’t matter. It is a good thought, but she doesn’t know if that dream will ever come true.

For now, however, they fight – men and women of all colours together, trying to get England to leave so they will finally have the freedom they desire. Of course Miranda knows that freedom is not always easy and equality is more than just a simple word, but someone, somewhere has to make a start.

*

Miranda is tired.

The fighting is brutal as it wages all around her. The metallic smell of blood is penetrating the air, forming a stench with the other smells of battle so thick she can taste it on her tongue. She can see Anne Bonny not far, a whirlwind of death that even the bravest of men don’t dare to come near, although there is no space to flee. Jack is by her side and Vane too, both fighting like demons that hell has spit out because it didn’t want them. Flint is there as well, somewhere off on her other side, but too far away for her to see at the moment.

Then another man swings his weapon at her and she counters it like she has been taught, a growl deep inside her throat as her tired arms protest the movement. She has never been one of the faster or more elegant fighters – her fighting shows her anger and, by now, the desperate will to simply stay alive.

She manages to bring down the man in front of her when her eye catches a movement from the side and Miranda sees Hornigold riding along, face turned into a silent snarl and eyes blazing as he is looking at her and someone behind her.

“Miranda, over here!” It’s Flint’s voice and she listens without a second thought, covering the distance between them and planting her feet next to him, right in Hornigold’s path. She knows what Flint is thinking – Hornigold can only attack one of them, not both at the same time. And to kill him, the other would gladly take the fall.

Miranda clenches her weapon in her hands as times seems to slow down around them. She can see every detail – the spit flying from the horse’s mouth, the hate in Hornigold’s eyes, that the sleeves of his coat are starting to fray. She readies her weapon, her entire body rigid with tension.

Then Hornigold is over them.

Flint roars and she does, too, their entire wrath unloading in this one stroke. There is the sound of a rifle and wet thud of metal in flesh and then suddenly, the horse is past and she is breathing again, heavily, through the ringing in her ears.  

The first thing Miranda sees is Flint, lying on the ground although he is groaning and moving slightly. Between them is the still form of Hornigold – blood pooling beneath him and hand scrabbling on the sandy ground for a weapon. Miranda snarls something between her teeth and lurches forwards, taking the dagger that has fallen from the man’s belt in her own hands and slashing Hornigold’s throat in the same motion that she whips up his head with. She can feel some of the blood splatter on her face and hands, but doesn’t care in the slightest.

Flint’s gaze meets hers after Hornigold’s corpse has finished its last, jerky movements. She can see something dawning inside his eyes that she has been afraid to see there ever since she had first set foot on the _Walrus_ – the realization about what kind of person he has helped the world to create. Miranda wonders if the monster inside Flint’s eyes is now staring back at him through hers.

*

Miranda is standing tall at the bow of the _Morning Mist_ , her face and hands now scrubbed clean of the blood and dirt from battle. Flint is besides her looking ahead where they both know Nassau lies. Vane is on Flint’s other side and she can feel the presence of the others beside here – John Silver, who has slowly come into this own now and changed greatly from the sly, cowardly rat he used to be; Madi, head held high and a fire burning in her eyes that her own mother would be proud to see; Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny, still alive after the battle and faces set and grim with determination. She has heard rumours that Blackbeard is coming too, but has not seen him; but maybe Vane will be able to convince him to fight on their side.

Somewhere out there, Woodes Rogers I waiting for them, holding Nassau in his iron grip. All they have is a few ships and a determined crew of fighters and sailors – and the whip of desperation cracking over their heads.

Unlike the English, they have nowhere to go. Nassau is their home and after all they have done, there is nowhere else on earth where they could stay. Thomas had been their home until he was taken from them – then it had been the ships, the ocean and finally, almost unwillingly, Nassau with all its faults and dirt in the streets.

Each and every single one of them will fight to their last to get it back.

She looks over at Flint and he moves closer, just a little bit, so that their shoulders are brushing. No smile, but warmth against her body. Maybe, after all, they are all monsters of some kind. But if it takes monsters to win back what is theirs, then so be it.

They are ready.


End file.
